Chapter 31

Chapter 31

Following our defeat in Tokyo, all I wanted was to fast-forward to Nationals in January, when Garrett and I would have the chance to defend our title and redeem ourselves.

Unfortunately, Sheila had volunteered all the Academy’s senior ice dance teams for a charity gala on New Year’s Eve. I can’t even remember what the cause was—whales or children or something else in perpetual need of saving—but we were to be the night’s entertainment, skating an exhibition show on the beachfront ice rink at the Hotel del Coronado.

The hotel was impressive, like a Gilded Age ocean liner run aground on a stretch of pristine island sand right off the coast of San Diego. When we arrived the morning of the event, the place was still decorated for the holidays, with string lights tracing the turrets and, in the two-story lobby, a Christmas tree tall enough to brush the polished ceiling coffers.

Their skating facilities, though, left something to be desired. The rink was a temporary structure, set up every winter for tourists to stumble around in rental skates while sipping spiked hot chocolate. Without any shade from the California sun, the top layers of ice softened until it felt as if you were trudging through slush.

After the preshow practice session, while most of the other skaters seized the opportunity to lounge on the beach or explore the resort, I retreated to my room, exhausted. We’d left LA at daybreak, and my seat on the chartered coach had offered an entirely too clear view of Bella leaning against Heath’s shoulder while he listened to the iPod she’d bought him for Christmas. Instead of flying home after the NHK Trophy, the two of them had stayed in Japan for the few weeks leading up to the final, sightseeing and doing who knows what else together.

I didn’t want to think about it. But I also couldn’t seem to stop.

The elevator in the hotel lobby was an old-fashioned birdcage contraption, operated by a stooped, gray-haired man wearing a uniform complete with little round hat. As he dragged the metal accordion gate closed, he whistled a cheerful rendition of “Auld Lang Syne.”

“So you’re one of the ice skaters?” he asked.

I nodded. He switched to whistling the Olympic fanfare.

“You going to the Olympics?”

“I hope so,” I said.

The polite, humble answer—the one I’d been trained to give in interviews so I didn’t come across as an entitled, egotistical bitch. But I knew damn well I was going to the Games.

Despite Bella and Heath’s unexpected Grand Prix triumph, Garrett and I were still the top ice dancers in the United States. The U.S. National Championships served as the de facto Olympic trials, but for us, they were a formality. Two American dance teams would compete in Torino, and we would be one of them. My childhood dream coming true at last.

Only it was no longer enough for me.

I’d spent years aching, yearning to compete at the Olympic Games. Now that I was well on my way, simply competing didn’t feel sufficient. I wanted to go to the Games as reigning U.S. champion. I never wanted to stand on a silver medal step again.

The elevator arrived at my floor. The attendant shuffled over to retract the gate. And there, in the corridor, was Bella, her fist raised to knock on the door to my room.

“Hey,” she said. “There you are.”

“You were looking for me?”

This was already the longest conversation we’d had since the day I found out she was skating with Heath.

“Yeah. I was wondering if…”

She trailed off, twisting her fingers together. I couldn’t remember ever seeing her so unsure of herself. I have to admit I enjoyed it.

“Some of the girls were going to get ready together in my suite,” she said. “You’re welcome to join us. I mean, only if you want.”

Like most things with Bella Lin, the invitation might have been an olive branch—or it might have been a trap, ready to bite the second I let my guard down.

I decided to take my chances. I could bite too.

“What time?” I asked.

—

I heard the noise from halfway down the hall—overlapping voices, girlish giggling, and the grooving bass of a Beyoncé song.

I stopped outside the door, clutching my makeup case against my abdomen. For a moment, I considered fleeing. I didn’t know what was behind Bella’s sudden friendly overture. But I knew if I backed down now, she’d win. Again.

The door was propped on the swing bar. I arranged my face into a pleasant expression before pushing it open the rest of the way.

“Kat!” Bella broke into what I hoped was a genuine smile. “Come on in.”

As Garrett’s partner, my days of staying in shabby budget hotel rooms were long gone. Still, I couldn’t help comparing my standard room to the Lins’ deluxe suite, with its white-shuttered picture windows providing unobstructed views of the sun dipping into the Pacific.

Everyone had gathered in the sitting area. Josie Hayworth was squeezing a cotton candy pink Lanc?me Juicy Tube onto her pursed lips. She and Ellis hadn’t been invited to perform, but no doubt her senator father was on the guest list, which meant they got to enjoy the free food and open bar with none of the pressure.

The other three—Amber, Chelsea, and Francesca, who went by Frannie—I knew only in passing. I’d made myself scarce around the Academy, dead set on avoiding Bella and Heath or anything else that might distract from my goals. The girls were all young up-and-comers, recently qualified for the senior level. Their entire futures ahead of them—though I knew, after witnessing several years of churn, most of them wouldn’t make it to next season.

I perched on an overstuffed ottoman and started applying my makeup, letting their chatter wash over me. They traded tips on the perfect French manicure, talked about the new Harry Potter movie, and harmonized to “Naughty Girl,” Frannie hamming it up with a can of glitter hairspray as a microphone.

Was this what normal young women did on a Saturday night? I was only twenty-two, and I felt unspeakably ancient. I had nothing to add to the conversation, no interests outside of skating. It was easier for me to talk to a reporter for a television segment broadcast to millions than to make simple small talk with people my own age.

For the most part, Bella stayed quiet too, concentrating on creating perfect wings of black eyeliner extending all the way to her temples. I assumed she and Heath were performing their free dance program, but she seemed to be going for a more dramatic look than she’d worn for the Grand Prix series.

As I patted on a final layer of setting powder, Bella glanced over. “What are you going to do with your hair?”

“I don’t know.” So far that season, I’d gone the simple route: half up to keep it out of my face, secured with a hair clip covered in crystals that matched my dress.

“Want me to braid it for you?” she asked.

When I first started skating with Garrett, Bella had done my hair before almost every competition. Those were some of my favorite memories, sitting on the floors of hotel rooms from Spokane to St. Petersburg while Bella twisted and pinned with quick, expert fingers.

“Sure,” I said.

She motioned for me to take a seat in front of her, leaning back against the sofa. That put me right in the middle of the group, my knees hitting the metal coffee-table legs. Bella ran her hands through my hair, brushing out the tangles, and a warm tingling sensation spread down my spine. I’d missed this. I’d missed her.

Someone swapped the Beyoncé CD for Madonna’s Confessions on a Dance Floor, and soon the talk turned to the inevitable: cute boys.

Frannie had a crush on a South Korean pairs skater and was strategizing how to approach him when they were both in the same city for the Four Continents competition.

“Show us a picture,” Josie demanded.

Frannie produced her clamshell phone. The others gathered round.

“Oh my god, he’s gorgeous, ” Amber squealed.

Chelsea squinted at the screen. “Kind of looks like a younger Garrett Lin.”

“He does, ” Frannie sighed.

“First of all, not all Asian people look alike,” Bella said. Frannie started to apologize, but Bella cut her off. “And could you please refrain from lusting after my brother in my presence?”

“Sorry.” Amber shrugged. “But Garrett’s a hottie.”

I shifted, drawing my knees up under my chin.

“Hold still,” Bella told me.

Frannie scooted closer. She’d barely put on any makeup, beyond a few flicks of mascara and tinted moisturizer that emphasized her freckled complexion instead of concealing it. The things you can get away with when you’re sixteen. Her mother was the CEO of some global pharmaceutical conglomerate, which made her family even richer than Josie’s, but she struck me as a sweetheart rather than a spoiled brat. Maybe too sweet to survive this cutthroat sport.

“I’ve always wondered,” Frannie said. “Are you and Garrett, like…”

“We’re just friends,” I said.

She frowned. “Really? But you two are so perfect together.”

“He’s a great partner.”

The sort of answer I would give in an interview—but it was also the truth. The two of us had an easy rapport from the start, and I knew plenty of people assumed we were dating. We denied it, until Sheila told us not to bother. Let them think what they want was her advice.

So we let the rumors slide. Sometimes we even played into them, accidentally or on purpose—walking around arm in arm with the natural ease of people who spend hours a day touching, snatching food off each other’s plates at post-competition banquets, gushing to reporters about how much we adored working together.

Part of me was always waiting for Garrett to make a move. Back in Nagano, Bella had said he liked me—and he did seem to enjoy my company. He’d never dated anyone in the skating world, and we didn’t have time to meet many people outside of it.

I could have been disappointed, or even insulted. But it was a relief, in a way. I wasn’t sure how I would react if Garrett tried to take things between us to the next level. Better to keep going the way we were, as good friends and colleagues. I knew all too well how wrong a romance between skating partners could go.

Since I’d been such a poor source of gossip, the girls turned their attention to Bella. She was nearly finished with my hair, coiling the plaits and pinning them at my nape.

“What about you, Bella?” Amber said.

“Yeah, what about you?” Chelsea waggled her freshly plucked eyebrows.

Bella stiffened, tugging the braid so tight that my scalp stung.

“Come on, spill,” Frannie said. “Cause we all know there’s no way you and Heath Rocha are ‘just friends.’?”